Music is a contact sport – so is sex.
It is just me and – for this exercise – the bassoon.
The room is silent, and I approach my partner with a plan.
I am going to make this long and thick stalk of wood sing and do things that alone it could never achieve. My hands will plod, and then fly and sometimes tickle the openings and my grasp will adjust. I will fill it with my breath and hold it close to my thundering heart until it is a part of me; an extension of my physical form and with my eyes closed we move together naturally- slipping and sliding over three clefs and our sound resonating off the walls to fill my ears. Alone, this instrument is something beautiful to look at but less than it’s whole.
Other people may come along and put their lips to it and press their fingers along the body – but it will only perform magic for me. It will make sounds and noise for them – it might even bring them pleasure and give them a sense that they are the master , but it only sings for me and can only achieve greatness in my tender and demanding care.